Dreams
by madame.alexandra
Summary: He asked her, "Do you ever have good dreams anymore?". / Leia's not sure if she has had a good dream since the death of Alderaan, but she's had a recurring one that definitely wasn't all bad. H/L; Trip to Bespin.


_a/n: set on the journey to Bespin. Han and Leia are already sleeping together._

* * *

 ** _Dreams_**

* * *

There was nothing good about a busted hyperdrive, especially when one was on the run from ruthless Imperial madmen, but silver linings had to be found, and Han Solo had decided that one of those silver linings was that he had an unprecedented amount of time to meddle with the hundreds of little things that were chronically wrong with his ship.

He could do absolutely nothing about the big issue, so he, Chewbacca, the droid, and the Princess occupied the long, listless days with odd jobs and pre-emptive work – and of late, he occupied his nights behind a locked cabin door with the Princess herself, but on this one –

Tonight he'd gotten distracted right before bedtime with a finicky circuit board in the main hold, and what he'd thought would be a quick fix turned into him pulling the whole thing apart and systematically investigating every single nook and cranny of the thing, so that he ended up completely absorbed in it. He sat at the table, protective goggles on his face, bent over a mass of wires with a few small tools laid out around him, vaguely uncertain of how long he'd been at this, and subconsciously aware that Leia was surely wondering where he was.

She'd asked him if he was going to bed, and he'd said he'd be there in a minute.

He paused, lifting his head a little, frowning – he hoped she didn't think he was brushing her off or something, now that he'd gotten what he wanted – but no, she wouldn't think that, he'd made it clear that sleeping with her _wasn't_ all that he wanted –

Hadn't he?

He looked down at the dismantled circuit board, and then up at the sound of light footsteps.

Leia leaned against wall, blinking sleepily, her shoulders draped in a thin, patched blanket. Her hair hung messily over one shoulder, loose and falling almost to the hem of the t-shirt she wore. She looked at him a moment, yawned, and came forward, sliding onto the seat with him without a word. She moved over until she was right next to him, and then pulled the blanket around her tightly, curling up at his side and resting her head on his shoulder. He leaned back, laying down one of his tools for a moment, pushing up his goggles, and placing his hand on her head.

"You okay?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded, the movements of her head wrinkling his sleeve. He ran his fingers through strands of her hair and leaned down to kiss her. She smiled and closed her eyes.

"Got caught up in this," he muttered apologetically.

She shrugged a little.

"Keep working," she said softly. "It's soothing."

He shifted to pick up the tools again, and glanced down at her, arching his brows.

"You're not gonna be very comfortable," he warned.

He'd be moving his arm constantly, even if just in small motions. His shoulder wasn't the best place for her to rest her head, while he was working – he ought to just go to bed, and clean up this mess tomorrow –

"You just want me to put my head in your lap," Leia murmured, feigning affront. She sighed, and opened her eyes, lifting her head a little. She made a show of shaking her head at him, and then ducked under his arm and laid her head in his lap comfortably.

Han looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. She made herself at home, using one of her arms and his leg as a pillow, and his vision was full of half-asleep princess and all of her tangled, chestnut hair, there in his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He smiled a little, and leaned forward. He pulled his goggles back down and focused on the wires, oddly comforted by her presence. She seemed to want nothing more than to go back to sleep, but it seemed strange that she'd come out here –

"Leia?" he asked.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, her face buried in his thigh.

He clipped a wire, examined the edge, and replaced it in a more secure place on the circuit board. He paused, picking up the next wire.

"You have a nightmare?" he guessed.

She wrapped her arm around his knee.

"It was a bad dream," she corrected after a moment.

"Uh-huh," Han drawled slowly. "What's the difference?"

"Nuances," she whispered.

She turned, lying on her back, looking up at him.

"Nightmares are the ones that make me scream. Bad dreams…are when I dream about Alderaan," she said in a small voice, "but the whole time, I know I have to wake up."

He looked down at her through the goggles and stopped working for a moment. She nodded at him slowly.

"Do you ever have good dreams?" Han asked quietly.

She shrugged a little, but said nothing, and turned her head, her eyes on his belt for a moment, and then wandering up the edges of his vest, avoiding his eyes. She was fine, she just hadn't wanted to go back to sleep right away – at least not alone. It was frightening that despite how little time had passed since she actually started sleeping _with_ him, she couldn't bear to be alone in bed anymore.

He implicitly understood that she just wanted him in her sights, so he obliged her and went back to meticulously adjusting little things, careful to lean forward over the table.

He expected her to drift off to sleep, but she didn't. She started to talk.

"I used to dream about you," she ventured.

He arched his brows, pushing up his goggles again – for good this time, as he deactivated the charge he was messing with – and gave her a suggestive look.

"Really?"

She blushed a little.

"Not like that," she protested.

He gave her a look.

She smiled.

"Oh, maybe once or twice," she confessed.

He smirked at her, and she narrowed her eyes, shaking her head at him a little.

"Most often, they weren't dirty dreams," she said earnestly, her expression changing.

"Nothin' dirty about it, Sweetheart."

She raised her eyes up, exasperated.

"It's a colloquialism, Han," she sighed. "Semantics, semantics – at this hour?"

He grinned.

"Go on, Princess, tell me what you dreamed about," he teased lightly, concentrating on re-situating a switch back in its proper place.

His hands were steady, and he sensed her watching the muscles in his arms move as he worked.

"I would dream," she began, her words hesitant. "Well, I rarely slept alone, on Alderaan," she said quietly.

Han's head titled a little, curious.

"Concubines?" he asked.

She giggled quietly.

"No, no," she murmured. "It was a common practice in royal houses," she explained, keeping her voice slow, sleepy. "A nurse, a governess, my friend Neena, my friend Winter," she listed, her words taking on a pained, tired edge. "We'd fall asleep gossiping…" she trailed off.

Leia reached up and pushed her hair back, brushing her mouth with her fingers.

"I was rarely alone," she said, "and then, after Yavin…I was always alone."

She swallowed, able to tell from the set of his jaw that he was listening, though keeping from commentating, maybe because he'd never heard her talk so much about home at once, and he didn't want to cut her off, or say the wrong thing.

"I missed having someone there. I'd dream they were there and wake up…cold, still tired, reminded they were all dead."

She closed her eyes lightly.

"But on Hoth I…I'd dream that I was back in the palace, in Aldera, on one of those nights were the servants left the windows open, and the room was so flooded with moonlight it was impossible to sleep, and the air was fresh and flowery," she murmured, "and I'd turn over to wake Winter, or Neena, and you were there instead."

Han sat back a little, surprised.

He rested his wrists on the table, eyes on her intently, listening. She sensed his gaze, and opened her eyes carefully, a pink flush creeping over her nose and across her cheeks.

"It was always the same," she whispered. "You were asleep, and I was _outraged_. I'd kick you, or shake you, or pull your hair to wake you up, and I'd demand to know what you were doing there. And you'd just say 'You wanted me here.' And when I'd swear that I most certainly did not, you just rolled over and went back to sleep. Like you belonged there. As if it were normal for you to be asleep in _my_ bed in the palace."

Han stared at her, and she licked her lips.

"Sometimes it was a little different," she sighed, "sometimes you'd touch my face instead of rolling over," she seemed to hesitate. "But once it was…it was…"

"What?" he asked, captivated suddenly, like she was telling a story.

He pulled the goggles off of the top of his head and threw them down, ignoring the circuitry board.

She took a deep breath.

"Once you were just standing there. I kept asking you if you were coming to bed and you just kept saying you were too tired to get in bed with me. And I," she faltered, furrowing her eyebrow, " _kept_ asking you to sleep with me. Just _sleep_. You finally did, and you asked me what was going to happen in the morning. But I said it didn't matter, because you'd be gone in the morning. And you said," she paused again. "you said you wouldn't be gone, you'd be right there."

She shifted her head, looking at him a moment, and then looking away, resting her arm lightly over her eyes.

"You always were there when I woke up, you know," she said faintly. "Not in my bed, but…on Hoth. On the _Falcon_. You were around."

She swallowed hard – maybe it wasn't a good dream, but it was one of the only dreams she'd had after Alderaan that didn't leave her feeling sick, scared, devastated, or listless the next morning. Nightmares were awful in a self-explanatory way, and bad dreams just reminded her in a lucid sort of way that Alderaan only existed in her head now.

Han leaned back against the seat, frowning thoughtfully. He rested one of his hands on Leia's head, toying with her hair.

"That dream used to really irritate me," Leia said hoarsely, laughing a little. "I used to be so – so – you'd have such a _smug_ look on your face, saying that 'You wanted me here' as if it were obvious – and I'd take it out on you the whole next day," she explained guiltily.

Han grinned gently.

She compressed her lips, and grit her teeth, sitting up. She turned to him, her body curled towards his, blanket slipping over her shoulders, eyes catching his carefully.

"You were the only person I dreamt about who wasn't dead when I woke up," she said shakily.

He put his hands on her neck lightly and traced his thumbs along her jaw, leaning his head forward and resting his forehead against hers.

"Well, I don't plan on dying anytime soon," he said gruffly. He lifted his brows. "I do plan on being in your bed for the rest of this trip," he added, "and then some."

Her concerns about the future bubbled to her lips – what about Jabba, what about the Rebellion, what about everything and everyone else? – but she swallowed them; now wasn't the time.

"Hmm," he grunted. "Technically, you're in my bed."

She shrugged a little, her shoulders falling, and reached out to place her hands over his.

"The bed I was dreaming about doesn't exist anymore."

"You can stay in mine."

She smiled, and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his lightly – lightly, at first, and then with more passion, and deeper affection. Her she slid her fingers into his hair and held on loosely, shifting around until she was straddling his lap, and his arms went around her middle.

"What was the bad dream tonight, then?" he asked, hands roaming up her spine.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed.

"Was it about me?" he asked warily.

"I don't know," she said, unhappily reminded. "I was in my bed in the palace again. You weren't there. I yelled for you – and there was smoke?" she shook her head again. "Or mist. It was hot," she said tightly. "I could hear Vader breathing," she whispered, "maybe I was in hell." She met his eyes. "You weren't there, though," she repeated. "It felt like a premonition."

"I'm here now," he said.

"Yes," she agreed softly, her lips on his again.

He kissed her back, distracted by this now, wrapped up in her, and her hair, and her skin, and the perfect way she seemed to fit in his arms. He started to lean her back against the table and then caught himself, remembering the circuitry board. He broke the kiss, clearing his throat, and arched a brow.

"You want to take this to the bunk?" he asked huskily. "I'll show you what my dreams about you were like."

"I've been debriefed," she retorted wryly.

He pressed his forehead to hers again, gathering her hair in his hand affectionately.

"Oh, I had quite a few dreams, Princess," he drawled suggestively. "More than enough to last us to Bespin."

"Those, Captain Solo, are _fantasies."_

She smiled, and pulled his lips to hers again. She didn't make a move to get up, and he held her a little closer, content to be languorous – there was something significant in her confiding in him spontaneously, even when he hadn't provoked her, and they both knew it, and she'd come out here looking for him when she found the bunk next to her empty to remind herself that dreams were no longer the only place where she could be happy.

* * *

 _historically in some royal houses it actually was common for a maidservant or a less high ranking member of the family to share a bed with princesses of the house. so, i borrowed that._

 _-alexandra_  
 _-story #310_


End file.
